


I Won't Say I Am in Love

by Sia345



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Jealousy, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sia345/pseuds/Sia345
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark won't say she is in love. Jon is determined to make her say it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote these chapters. I am not sure why. But now the chapters are different.

 

I

 

“She will not marry him.” Sansa paused on their track to the Godswood when Tyrion mentioned Daenerys Targaryen’s new plan. “I will not allow it.”

 _Allow it?_  Tyrion glanced up, startled by her blunt words. “Lady Stark—it is not up to us to decide what the Queen can or cannot do. The crown on top of her head lets her do as she pleases.”  

“Jon is of the North. The South is no place for a Stark. The Starks need to—”

“But he is not a Stark.” He interjected before she could finish. “Never was. You occasionally seem to forget he is a Targaryen.” A Targaryen whose claim to the throne is better than the Queen’s, Tyrion thought silently. No one dared to speak of it in front of the Queen but she knew the seven kingdoms would rather have the honorable White Wolf as their king than the foreign mother of dragons who had a reputation of burning her enemies. Their union would eliminate possible unrest for Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrion himself suggested the idea of a Targaryen marriage to secure her claims once and for all, the Queen agreed almost immediately. There were whispers she had already taken her nephew as a lover. He did not know whether the rumours were true, not with a certainty. They _did_ spend quite a bit of time alone in each other’s company—and who knew what took place behind closed doors.

Sansa snorted. “Forget that he is a Targaryen? How can I forget Lord Tyrion when there are three dragons covering the skies of Winterfell at this moment? Your Queen spends more time here, within my walls than in the Red Keep. She never lets me forget.”

Tyrion clasped his hands behind his back and casually glanced around for any lurkers before speaking. The path leading to the Godswood was quiet and empty during this time of the day. “Then you know it is unwise to say such things out loud. You are smarter than that.” While he wouldn’t run to the Queen to tell her about such statements despite being her most trusted man, others seeking to gain Daenerys Targaryen’s favor might. Despite their history of an ugly forced marriage, Tyrion had a tender spot in his heart for his former wife.  _She is still your wife_ , a voice inside of his head insisted. There was no official annulment before she was given to Ramsay Bolton. He had the urge to speak to the Queen about it. The thought of having Sansa as his wife again did interesting things to him, to his groin if he was being precise. He had spent many nights lying awake in torment, desiring her warmth, craving her touch. She had told him back then she would never want his touch, he wondered if she would still feel the same. Would she still feel repulsed by the sight of his hideous body when she has seen much uglier things? She must know the handsome knights from her songs did not exist.

She was thinking about what to say next, weighing her words carefully. For a tiny, almost nonexistent moment she reminded him of the young girl she once was, quiet, calculating, careful with her words because a mistake could end her life. “You think your Dragon Queen scares me Lord Tyrion?” She asked quietly before looking away from him. A vague, unfamiliar mocking smile flitted over her lips. “After surviving the likes of Joffrey, Cersei, Tywin, Varys, Littlefinger, Ramsay, even you? After the army of the dead that was at my doorstep? Do tell me what your Queen would do to me?” There it was again. She said  _your_ Queen, not  _our_ Queen, not  _the_ Queen. “Burn me? Let her. I am not scared of her dragons.” Sansa said defiantly. “Will she take my life? You and I both know death is not the worst thing that can happen to us in the world.”

Tyrion’s face burned with unwanted shame. She considered him one of her tormentors. He was another Lannister who added to her misery. _I tried to protect you_ he wanted to say,  _I did protect you to the best of my abilities_. “It saddens me to hear you speak of such things my lady. Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities. You survived, you are alive!”

“If you say so,” her reply cold and distant, just like her. It did not matter how many hours in a day they spent in long conversations, she never let her guard down around him. Never shared more than necessary. Never let him comfort her with his words.

“There is always a reason for us to live on. You must have had a reason to survive thus far”

Sansa nodded, but just barely. “I had to take my home back. I had to put it together piece by piece. Now you people want a piece of it again. I won’t let her take Jon from me.”

“We are not taking him from you.” His voice rose in exasperation. Jon was the legitimate heir to the throne! He was the Prince that saved the world. He belonged to the realm now. “He is more than just your cousin who was once the unwanted bastard of Winterfell—don’t you think you are being a tad bit selfish to hold him back from becoming a king? He would make an excellent King. Westeros needs and wants a king like him.” Tyrion said. He did not understand her. It was unkind of her to keep the man away from the throne simply because she wanted him close. She was young, devastatingly beautiful and the most powerful woman in the seven kingdoms after the Queen. She could marry any man of her choosing and start a family of her own to rebuild Winterfell. He would marry her again if she would have him. Her selfish need to hold Jon back reminded him of Cersei when she— “You are not in love with him like Cersei was with Jaime, are you?” Tyrion didn’t mean for the words to escape his lips, it was a jest truly, but he stared in shock when her eyes widened and her breath visibly quickened. Seven hells. _She is_.

Sansa tried to regain her composure, in a moment of surprise she accidentally revealed too much. Her arms crossed over her chest, “Of course I am not in love with Jon. That is absurd.” Despite her calm demeanor, there was a  tremor in her voice — and her cheeks flushed with color. No wonder she disliked the Queen.

“Does he know how you feel about him?” Tyrion asked as he watched Sansa’s fingers nervously play with the blue sapphire pendant around her long throat. When she didn’t reply he continued, “There are talks he is her lover and he does nothing to deny such talks. I think they are true. So he most likely doesn’t know about your feelings. Or he knows, and he chose not to care… Which is it I wonder?”

She gave Tyrion a warning glare, “This is a highly inappropriate conversation. You misunderstand my feelings for Jon. Now if you no longer wish to visit the Godswood, I will head back. I have work to do and cannot be wasting my time on such conversations.”

“Littlefinger trained you well in the arts of deception, still your eyes give you away. I wonder how your feelings went unnoticed for so long. How could your cousin look at you every day and not see?” That struck a chord Tyrion thought. Her eyes grew watery—but the girl had the great willpower and somehow beckoned them to stay frozen in their places. She was definitely in love. The sight made Tyrion feel wistful and lonely—and jealous. “Lady Sansa” Tyrion said gently, “You may not believe this but I care for you deeply. I always have. I wish you would talk to me.” Tyrion stepped closer to her.

Sansa extended her arm but instead of pushing him away she took a step back. “Don’t.” She said firmly. “I am sure you can find your way to the Godswood Lord Tyrion. I have to attend to my people.”

She did not wait for him to respond before walking away. Tyrion pitied her. She deserved to be loved. _I could love you,_ he wanted to yell out.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

II

 

Tyrion looked forward to talking to Sansa at dinner—he wanted to apologize, but to his surprise she did not show. Some excuse of a headache and an apology were sent through Brienne, her loyal friend. Her absence irritated Tyrion for many reasons, he missed her company, for one. Tyrion enjoyed talking to her most at the high table — they discussed books, history, politics in new Westeros, possible trade deals which could benefit the North and the South— even religion from time to time. What Sansa Stark often lacked in knowledge and experience, she made up in curiosity and her eagerness to listen and learn. She never looked bored when he spoke, her head never turned to listen to a funnier story from someone else at the table—Tyrion appreciated that. However, what irritated him most about her absence this night was the confirmation that came from it— she was indeed in love with the pretty Prince. After drowning cup after cup Tyrion noticed he was not the only one irritated by her absence. Despite the charming atmosphere and equally charming company, the brooding Prince was in a sullen mood. He nodded whenever Daenerys and Ser Davos spoke, offering very little words of his own — his eyes kept drifting to the empty chair that was usually occupied by his beautiful cousin. He whispered something to Samwell Tarly three times during dinner and each time the patient Maester disappeared from the hall without complaint. Jon’s face fell whenever the man returned, shaking his head — he was sending him to check on her Tyrion figured.

 

Hours passed before the ladies departed the great hall, leaving Tyrion, Jon, Sam, Ser Davos and Tormund in their places. New flagons full of Dornish wine were brought out, a gift from the Queen to Winterfell. Northerners were not fond of her, but they loved the wine she brought with each visit. When the servant passed by, Tyrion raised his cup for a refill. This was going to be a long night—the red-haired wildling had just started one of his absurd stories.

 

Jon shifted restlessly in his chair for a while before finally rising. “I will be back,” he told the men. They gave a slight nod, too enthralled by Tormund’s story to care. _Something about a bear_ …

“Sta-a-ay” Tyrion heard himself call out. “I am sure Lady Sansa is fine! It is not appropriate to visit a lady this late. Think of her reputation.” The story stopped and to Tyrion it seemed as if time had as well. Jon turned around to look at Tyrion, visibly confused by his remark. “She is no longer your sister, your grace — what will the people say? Think of all the ugly whispers.” Tyrion said with what he hoped was a friendly grin.

Ser Davos uncomfortably cleared his throat. “Lord Tyrion, you are drunk. It has been a long night. I think you should head to bed, perhaps we all should.”

The men all rose from their chairs but Jon stood glued to his spot. “I haven’t seen Sansa all day. I don’t know why anyone here would care if I visit my cousin who is unwell.” Jon explained.

“I saw her this morning and she was —”

“It doesn’t matter how she was this morning if she is not feeling well now. I should be with her if she is ill,” he muttered irritably.  

“Oh trust me, your grace. This is not that sort of illness.” Tyrion slurred.

“Lord Tyrion.” Davos warned.

Jon’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I don’t like riddles Lannister. If you know something say it plainly.”

“I believe she is ill here.” Tyrion pointed at his heart. When Jon blinked in confusion, Tyrion laughed. He rose from his chair with the cup in his hand, walked to Jon with a bit of difficulty. “Gods, you princes are all idiots! She has a broken heart, you see. In love with a man who belongs to another I guess.” Tyrion saw Jon’s jaw clench “Do you wish to know who her new tormentor is?”

“Stop talking.” Jon warned. His hand coiled into a fist.

“Do you not wish to know who has hold of your cousin’s cold heart,” he laughed bitterly. “How I wished it was me! I had hoped she would accept my love this time—” Tyrion wasn’t sure what happened next but he saw the prince raise his fist and lower it toward his face, and suddenly it felt as if a flash of lightning had hit his brain. His eyes welled up and his vision blurred.

“You are not allowed to talk to Sansa anymore.” Jon roared. “If I see you even looking at her Lannister, I will forget you are a friend.”

The punch seemed to somewhat wear off the effects of the wine. Despite of the pain from his nose—and his face, Tyrion started laughing again. He had somehow managed to piss off two of the kindest people in one day. Jon clenched his fist again but this time he didn’t raise it—instead he shot him a furious glare. “Someone get him to bed,” he muttered before walking away.

After Jon’s departure Ser Davos and Maester Tarly rushed to his side. “Let me get a look at your nose, Lord Tyrion,” the kind Maester said, already inspecting his nose. He sighed in relief after a moment. “Oh good. It’s not broken. But it will hurt for few days. I will bandage it for you if you—”

“He is in love with her.” Tyrion remarked, still staring at the door Jon exited from.

“Of course he is in love with her.”

Tyrion glanced up to look at Sam—surprised he was already aware of the man’s feelings. “And she is in love with him.”

“She is?!” Sam sounded utterly surprised. The other two men looked at each other.

Tyrion shrugged. He wanted to deny it, but he found himself nodding.

He looked at the men staring him with open mouths. Something just happened, he was too exhausted to realize what.

 

 

* * *

 

 

III

 

Sansa was wide awake when Jon knocked on her door. Sweet Jon, always concerned about her. The knock was so soft she barely heard it, but she knew it was him—there was a specific pattern to his knock to let her it was him at the door. He stood there for a long time, waiting… He didn’t actually expect her to open the door, did he? He should expect her to be asleep at this hour.

 _Please Jon, go away_ , she found herself silently pleading. It seemed to work because he finally walked away. Earlier that day, Sansa realized she was selfish just as Tyrion said. Jon would be a good king, a great king, a king the realm needed at this moment. _What about what you need_ a desperate voice inside her asked — What about what he needs, Sansa replied back to the ugly voice. If Jon was indeed in love with Daenerys Targaryen, then Sansa was doing a great wrong by keeping him here. Jon deserved better than this, he deserved everything that was good in the world. But to get everything good in the world he would have to leave her—forever! The sudden fear of losing him forever paralyzed Sansa, made it difficult for her to breathe, or move. Parts of her body felt numb—and there was a pain in her chest. She tried to take deep breaths, tried to calm herself but her situation worsened. What is the matter with me, Sansa wondered. _Should I call for someone?_ Tears blurred her vision.

She was furious at Tyrion, even though he did nothing but show her the truth. How dare he tell her she was in love with Jon. What would be the point of loving Jon?  _He was not in love with her, he could never love someone like her._  They almost kissed one day—but the spell broke and he stepped away. Jon had looked horrified, and disgusted. He would never want to love someone like her. Sansa’s body shook as her sobs grew louder. _What a silly girl I still am_ she realized, _crying over a man even after everything I have been through_.

Hours later, when her tears stopped, Sansa realized she hadn’t felt this hollow in a long time. She was cold and empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the end bit I was trying to show Sansa was having a panic attack, except I am not so sure if I succeeded. This is why I am telling you guys here :(


	2. Chapter 2

 

I

 

“Lady Stark, Lady Brienne.” Tyrion grumbled as he joined them for breakfast. Sansa ignored his greeting and quietly ate her breakfast. She had no intention of talking to him this morning. “Please bring me some water first. My throat feels drier than the Dornish desert. Bread, and bowl of soup—any kind would do,” she heard him instruct the servant.

Sansa really had no intentions of talking to him but she found herself saying “Did you forget to ask for the mug of beer, Lord Tyrion?”

“I did not forget…” he said slowly, surprised by her comment. “I had a bit too much wine last night—more than I would have liked.”

The corner of her lips curved into a mocking smile. “Too much wine and—” Sansa paused when she glanced up and saw his bandaged nose. “What happened to your nose?”

“I was injured.”

“How?”

“I was assaulted by your _beloved_ Prince last night.” Sansa shot him a quick glare of warning but the shameless man simply grinned.

Jon was not prone to violence. “He would never assault someone like this. What did you do?” Sansa raised a brow. “You must’ve said something terrible.”

“Oh nothing! Just brought up his lady love.” Sansa’s lips parted in horrified surprise. She wanted to hit him across his face with her mug when he smirked at her. “Where is your Prince by the way?” He asked casually.

“ _Our_ Prince is in his solar, breaking his fast with  _your_  Queen.” Sansa answered, gritting her teeth. A lady should never grit her teeth, no matter how aggravating her company is.

“Maybe we should refer to him as our King. He was king once. It must be odd to lower his title to a Prince. He will be a King soon, once he marries our Queen. What do you say Lady Brienne?”

Brienne ignored his question. She knew about his non-sense from his brother.  Sansa put the small piece of bread down on the silver plate, no longer feeling hungry.

He chuckled. “Do you think they will marry in front of a heart tree or in the new sept in King’s Landing? If they get married here, we need to inform the great houses now. The North is a long way from rest of the regions.”

Tyrion was not a cruel man, so Sansa was certain he was doing this just to annoy her at this point. She shrugged dismissively, pretending not to be affected by his words, even though each word seemed to cut at her heart. “They can get married wherever they want.”

He blinked several times. “You don’t actually mean that.” Tyrion said softly—the gentleness in his voice annoyed Sansa. He pitied her.

Sansa laughed—it was a bitter sound. “I do mean it Lord Tyrion. Thank you for helping me see things clearly.” She placed her palms on the cool surface of the table and rose from her chair. “Now if you excuse me, I want to start on the cloak for my cousin to drape over his bride’s shoulders.”

He called her name behind her, but she kept walking the other way— making sure the ground remained firmly fixed beneath her feet. She told herself not to break until she is alone behind closed doors.

 

* * *

 

 

 II

 

“The Queen has asked me to marry her.”

Sansa clasped the flaps of her night gown over her chest. She knew this was coming. After all, she had prepared for this for last three nights. Turned out the preparation meant nothing. Her throat still tightened painfully as Jon uttered the words.

She should say something, _oh wonderful…you don’t say…that is great_ — but it seemed as if she had lost the ability to speak.

“Oh?” a soft noise was all she managed when she opened her mouth.

She turned around to her face her desk. After few deep breaths, she finally spoke. “I figured she would ask you,” she said shuffling through the papers that were in a neat stack just a moment ago.  _Look away_.  _Look busy_. “What did you tell her?” Her voice cracked against her will.

“I told her I don’t know….” _You don’t know?_   Sansa silently repeated the words in her head. Jon moved beside the desk. “I don’t know what to tell—her .” He watched her nervously go through the papers. “Are you looking for something Sansa?”

 _No. Just my strength that I thought I had_. “Yes, but I will find it later.” Sansa said with a nervous smile. She turned and looked around her chamber. There must be something else she can do, something she can put away so she doesn’t have to face him while he tells her this. There was nothing! Everything had been put away before she readied herself for bed. “You should go.”

Jon tilted his head in confusion. “Sansa, are you okay?”

“Yes!” She said too quickly. “No! Actually no. I am not feeling well. So you should go.”

She saw Jon step closer to her from the corner of her eyes. In an instant, he grabbed her elbow pulled her closer. Before she could yelp, he placed the back of his hand against her forehead, and then gently on her cheek as she squirmed to free her arm and failed.

“You are a bit warm. Should I ask for Sam?” The tenderness of his expression made Sansa want to weep again. After him, there will be no one to care for her like this.

She shook her head. “No. Don’t,” the words barely came out. He was looking at her with those warm grey eyes, Sansa was certain he could see straight into her soul. He gently brushed away the hair from the side of her face, but then wrapped few strands around his finger. “So beautiful. Some days I think you couldn’t possibly be real," he said dazedly.

She should remove his hand from her face. She was burning inside and out because of him. She should step away; put some distance between them so she could breathe. _You could keep him_ , the voice whispered. Jon loved her too much — he would never marry Daenerys if she asked him not to. She could even ask him to marry her, even though she had nothing to offer him other than this ruined castle that might never get repaired in their lifetime, not with the Queen's coins. He wouldn’t say no if she asked. He was too kind, he cared for her too much.

But she couldn’t be selfish.  _Not with him_. She moved his hand from her face. “You should go Jon.” She said softly. “We will talk tomorrow— that is  _if_ you can find some time for me.” She had not meant to say the last part, it just slipped out. 

“I always have time for— I am sorry about—we have been busy.”

 _We._  Bitterness crept into Sansa’s throat. “It’s fine.” She smiled wryly. “You should go. It is late”

“If you are not feeling well I will stay with you until you fall asleep. Like the old days” He smiled at her. A smile so kind that it almost broke Sansa. Like the old days before Daenerys came into his life.

“No. You should go. Your Queen might misunderstand.”

“I have not said yes to her.”

 “Well you should. You will be king again Jon.” Sansa tried her best to not sound bitter.

“You know I don’t care about being king”

“What do you care about then?” she asked softly.

Jon took a moment before stepping towards her. “I care about us, Winterfell, our people, keeping you safe.”

 _Of course you do, you sweet, wonderful man_. Sansa turned to face her bed. She closed her eyes and a tear trickled down her cheek.

“Sansa” Jon pleaded “Sansa talk to me! What is wrong?”

Sansa wiped her cheek before facing him. “You should marry her Jon. She is the Queen. She will make you a king. And not just a king of the seven kingdoms Jon, she will – she will give you so much more. She will give you everything.“

His face twisted in frustration. “I don’t care about the seven kingdoms or  _everything_ else she might have to offer.”

Sansa crossed her arms. “She is beautiful. You can forget finding someone as beautiful in the North. You couldn’t ask for a better wife.”

“You are wrong about that one, but even if she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, which again she is not, I wouldn’t care.”

He was being ridiculous. Sansa pressed her lips together. Will he ever stop being –  _foolish?_   People would kill for this. They  _have_  killed for this! “She will give you power Jon, real power!”

Jon rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Since when did I care about power?”

“What do you care about then?” Sansa raged.

He took a deep breath. “You—" His calm voice sent a shiver down her spine. “Us,” he whispered.

Sansa gaped at him. She should say something. She was good with words.

Jon opened his mouth to say something but then decided against it. “I love you.” The words came out slowly, one by one as if he was testing them. “Do you love me?”

Sansa blinked convulsively. What was he saying? Surely he didn’t mean it like  _that_. “Jon” she whispered.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 III

 

Jon took a step forward, his chest heaving. “I love you.” He had been terrified of these words for  _years_. Love meant pain, love meant loss, he had made a promise long ago he would not love again— yet he had fallen madly in love with her, despite his best attempts. 

He watched Sansa trying to make sense of his confession. “Of course you love me—we are family," she stammered. 

Jon shook his head and took a step toward her. “No. It is more than that.” It was so much more. His love for her went beyond the familial love he had felt for Robb, Arya and Bran. He loved them more than anything else in the world yet he somehow loved her with even more power, more intensity than he could comprehend. He realized that when Bran and Arya returned to Winterfell for a brief period. He burned for Sansa. He desired Sansa. At first he hated himself for desiring her. Especially after that time when he almost kissed her. Only a sick man could desire a woman who was once his sister. It took him time to realize what he felt for her went beyond desire. It was not sickness, it was love. He loved her.

Slowly, he completely closed the distance between them. Sansa stood frozen in front of her bed, her lips parted, her breath shallow. He wanted to lay her down on that bed. He wanted to rip off that silk nightgown that clung to the lush curves of her body and taste every inch of her. He felt absolutely bewitched by the sight of her. Her peaches and cream skin flushed, golden red hair cascaded around her long beautiful neck. He had not traveled the entire world, but he was certain there was no woman as beautiful as her. She took his breath away whenever he looked at her. Even her scent intoxicated him whenever she was near him. Jon didn’t even realize he was leaning toward her until she took a sharp breath. “Did someone tell you about this?”

He should lie, he should say no. He wanted to be a man who could read her mind, who would know her heart. Yet he hadn’t known. In his wildest dreams he wouldn’t have imagined Sansa being in love with him. Yet it made sense the second Sam came to him. Of course she loved him. All her smiles were for him. He was her other half, just as she was his. She loved him better than he loved himself. She understood him better than he understood himself.

Jon found himself nodding to her question. His response angered her. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him until he took a step back. “So now you pity me!” She spat.

“Pity you?” His voice grew so quiet it almost sounded like a whisper. Jon reached for her hands and drew her closer. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he dropped the softest kiss onto her brow. “I love you.”

He waited for her to say something but her only reply was the quickening of her breath.  His fingers floated across her cheek. “I love you. I love you. I love you!

Tears clouded her exquisite blue eyes. As they trickled down her cheeks, she shook her head. “You deserve better Jon. You deserve better! I have nothing to offer you other than—”

Jon decided to stop the outrageous statements by bringing his mouth to hers. The kiss was to be gentle—and calming. He did not expect the immediate hunger he felt as he tasted her lips for the first time. His mouth on her became more demanding as Sansa responded. She let out an agitated cry and he expected her to push him away; instead she clutched his shirt and drew him even closer. She responded to his kiss as if she too had been starving for this.

He brushed the tears on her cheek with the tip of his thumb as his tongue explored delicious little mouth. She moaned into his mouth and responded to his tongue generously. They kissed until they were both panting for air. “Sansa…” He exhaled slowly.

He gently brushed his lips against the tip of her nose, then her eyelids that were tightly shut. “Tell me you love me.” He did not know if he had meant for it to be a demand or a plea. He wasn’t sure what it sounded like either. It didn’t matter because she opened her tear-filled eyes and shook her head. Seemed like that is all she was willing to give him tonight. 

“Why not?” He tightened his arms around her, and pulled her closer to him until he felt every soft inch of her pressed against him. He playfully brushed his nose against hers. “Why in the seven hells would you not tell me?”

Jon had never been demanding. Especially when it came to Sansa, he had never asked her for anything. He never felt he had the right to ask her for anything. This time around it was different. She loved him as much as he loved her. He possessed her heart the same way she possessed his. Tonight cleared any doubt he had in his mind after Sam came to him. He did not understand why she would not just say she loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words. Sorry for all the typos and errors. I wanted this to be an one-shot. Then it became two and now I am heading to a three I guess.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 I

 

Sansa yelped—more from surprise than actual pain. She looked up to find the three ladies staring at her in confusion. Confused and maybe a bit concerned as well.

“Are you alright?” The Queen asked.

Sansa nodded. She smiled weakly. “I pricked my finger. That is all.”

“Oh…”

“It is normal — I do it all the time.” She ignored the frown on Brienne’s face and forced herself to smile politely toward Daenerys Targaryen and her companion Missandei. All these forced smiles were starting to make her face hurt.

In truth, Sansa never pricked her finger while sewing. She was certain she could sew with her eyes closed and not prick her finger. Not unless a certain man’s name was mentioned… _apparently_.

“Perhaps you should put these clothes away until we are done talking. I don’t wish for you to prick yourself again.” Sansa couldn’t detect whether it was a Queen’s command or merely a suggestion. She had come to notice they all sounded the same.

She was working on a doublet for Jon and had no intentions of putting it away. Besides, it would be far easier to avoid eye contact if she had something else to distract her with. She knew how to lie well, but not well enough when it came to Jon. Tyrion read her like a book. She did not wish for the Queen to do so as well.

Sansa shifted in her chair to face the Queen. “I will not prick myself again. Your Grace has my full attention.”

The Queen looked dubious. She considered her for a moment before speaking again. “As I was saying…I would like to marry your cousin.”

“Are you asking me for permission your Grace?” Sansa asked, her voice growing strident. She looked up to meet the Queen’s eyes. Daenerys Targaryen is no Cersei but perhaps she shouldn’t have said it like  _that_.

The corner of her mouth lifted as if to mock such a notion. “I am not asking you for your permission Lady Stark.” Why on earth would she ever need Sansa’s permission? It was such a stupid thing to say to a queen who has three dragons. “I am asking you for help because you happen to know him best.”

I do,  _I know him the best_. The thought made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. She had never known anyone as well as she knew Jon.  _She understood him_. “My help…” Sansa laughed nervously.

“I have asked Jon several times. He has refused my offer. I do not want to —  _coerce_  him into this marriage. So…I would like you to help me convince him.”

_No you don’t want to coerce him. You want me to do it for you._

Sansa moved her attention back to the fabric on her lap. Her thumb gently brushed over the small grey direwolves she stitched along the collar of the doublet. From far away it might be mistaken for any other ornate pattern, but up close one would notice the wolves. She was advised to stop stitching direwolves on his clothes since he is a dragon—but the knowledge of his true parentage only made her do it more. He was a Stark. He would always be a Stark. The North needed to know this.  

“Lady Stark?” The Queen called impatiently.

Sansa looked up and blinked. She was certain Daenerys had said something while she was lost in her thoughts. She cleared her throat. “Has he mentioned why he is refusing your offer your grace?” A part of her hoped she would say because he is in love with you, always has been in love with you. But Sansa reminded herself that is not what she wanted. She wanted to Jon to have a woman like Daenerys who would fill his life with laughter and joy. He deserved better than a living corpse like her.

“He does not wish to leave Winterfell. He thinks it would be too much for  _you_  to handle all alone. That has always been a great concern for him.”

Sansa swallowed and turned her attention to her stitching.  _Of course._

“I promise you I will leave some of my best men behind to help with the reconstruction of Winterfell.” Daenerys quickly added. “And Ser Jorah Mormont will be here to assist you in any matters.”

Sansa smiled wryly and tried to ignore the pain in her heart. She was becoming used to this hollow ache that had started to develop somewhere deep in her soul. She wanted to tell the Queen to keep her Ser Jorah. No one could replace Jon anyways. “That is very generous of you.”

“You will marry someday, will you not Lady Stark?” Daenerys asked.

Sansa hoped her trembling fingers would not draw attention from the Queen. She tried not to wince as she pricked her finger again. “I have not thought about it much. Have you said all of this to Jon?”

“I have…“ The Queen paused. “He still refused. I am starting to believe he simply does not like me.”

“I am sure there isn’t a man in the seven kingdoms who does not like you.” Sansa reassured the woman.

“Is there a — woman in his life?”

The question caught her off guard and this time Sansa winced as the needle drew blood from her finger.  _I love you_ ,  _I love you_. She could still feel his warm whispers on her skin.  

“I don’t believe so.” Sansa stammered.

“What does he like in a woman?”

Sansa forced herself to not glare at the woman. She had developed a bad habit of glaring at people when they displeased her. She needed to remind herself the mother of dragons was not one of her people. “Wh-what?”

“Oh come on.” Daenerys grinned. “I might be the Queen but I am still a woman. I am curious! I want to know what he likes in a woman. I will marry him someday. I want to know if he has a… _type_?"

“I don’t know what he likes in a woman your grace.” She muttered.

“He never had a lover?” her eyes widened with amusement.

Sansa gulped. “I heard there was a wildling woman. She died few years ago.”

“Oh…” Sansa noted the sudden sadness in the Queen’s eyes. At least Jon would have a woman with a warm heart, unlike herself. The thought comforted her as much as it saddened her. “What was she like?” The Queen asked.

 _She had red hair like mine_. Maybe that is what Jon saw last night when he ran his fingers through her hair.

Sansa drew a long breath as she thought about the woman who once had Jon’s heart, truly had his heart, not his pity. “Well…She was brave, a fighter, as tough as any man according to the wildling tales I have heard.”     

“Is that what he wants in a wife? A wild warrior woman with spear in hand?”  She raised her brows “Is this why he is refusing my offer?”

 “I don’t know.” she mumbled with a deadpan expression.

 “Would you find out for me what it is that he is seeking in a wife then?”

“I can’t!” Sansa protested too quickly.

“Why not?” Daenerys regarded her response with a contemplative eye.

“He probably will not share it with me. Jon is private. He doesn’t like to talk about such things.” That was not a lie. Jon never talked about Ygritte, or any other woman.

“You two are close. You should see the way he talks about you Lady Stark…” The Queen smiled and looked at her with wistful eyes. “He would tell you anything if only you would ask. So I don’t believe that he would not share this with you  _if you asked_.” The Queen rose from her chair. “As your Queen I am asking you to do this for me Lady Stark. Also— I command you to stop pricking yourself when you sew. I noticed you pricked yourself at least four times. At this rate your fingers will fall off.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

II 

 

 

Sansa told herself again she could do this. She had come prepared unlike the last time. She tried not to think about the kiss. It had already been tucked away among all the other beautiful memories she had. This time around there would be no chance for a kiss. She brought Brienne with her.

Yet Sansa could not bring herself to meet those grey eyes.  They had always been her safe haven, now they tormented her. His mere presence was enough to fill her with a desperate yearning for him. Sansa tried to gather the strength and not crack in front of him. Since the moment she had entered the room she had looked everywhere but him. She finally looked across the desk, forcing her eyes directly on him. He was waiting for her to say something.

Jon cleared his throat. “Why are you here Sansa?”

Sansa opened her mouth to tell him why she was here but she couldn’t think of the words she had rehearsed earlier. “I had to— I want to—the Queen asked me for something. She asked me—she wants to know what you like in a woman. If you have a type…”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he processed her words. “I don’t know if you are joking.”

“Would I joke about something like this?” She asked pointedly.

“And you are here to do what exactly? Compile a list for her?” he asked, quite sharply.

“Something like that…” Sansa muttered.

He closed his eyes and for a moment Sansa thought she would get nothing out of him. She should tell Daenerys she tried. She did try. 

Then he sighed and looked at her. “Well then. Here take a paper and quill. It is going to be a long list. I have had many years to think about what I want. And trust me when I say I know exactly what I want.”

Sansa reluctantly took the paper and the quill from his hand. She did not want to do this; she wanted to run from there. The last thing she wanted to know about was Jon’s perfect woman. She would compare herself to this perfect woman, and her heart would break even further. The Queen shouldn’t have forced her to do this. “Go on.”

“I want a woman with red hair,” he stated. His voice was firm, and devoid of emotion. “And sparkling blue eyes.” Jon added.

Sansa’s mouth parted slightly. “With red hair and blue eyes? Are these trivial details so important?” Her voice sounded harsher than she had intended. She had no patience for jests.

“Extremely important. In my dreams I have lots of children that look like Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon—even you Sansa. Maybe I can manage a little Arya on my own, but I am going to need a red haired, blue eyed beauty to create children with auburn hair and those Tully blue eyes.”

He was not joking. The dull ache in her chest grew sharper. Even if he was joking, his words matched her dreams so perfectly, it could have been her dream he was describing. “What else?” She asked looking at the paper.

“Long red hair, soft as silk. Hair I would want to bury my face in when we—“

“Got it” Sansa interrupted loudly. Brienne was here. Did he even notice Brienne was here?!

Jon grinned. “A woman that smells like the wet roses from the north, with a hint of lemon from the south.”

A little sound emerged from her nose that resembled a snort. Sansa rolled her eyes as she wrote down the words. These descriptions did not even make sense. The Queen will have her head for this. She will have his head as well. At least they will die together.

“Do not mock my list” Jon scowled at her. “I have become greedy. I like a woman that represents the best of both worlds you see. A southern beauty with the northern iron underneath.”

Sansa heard a noise come from Brienne’s direction, it sounded like a suppressed laugh. Brienne didn’t laugh often, it was shameful that she was laughing at this man’s ridiculous words.

“I also would like a tall woman.” He added.

“Like Brienne.” She quipped.

Jon’s lips parted with dismay, then his expression melted into a wary smile. “Maybe not as tall as Lady Brienne, but at least as tall as me. No petite beauties. Have no taste for them.”

“What else?” Sansa muttered through gritted teeth as she wrote the words down.

“I would like a woman who knows me and understands me, who is aware of the most incompetent side of me yet loves me nevertheless. A woman who believes in me more than I ever believed in myself. Someone who inspires me every day with her strength—someone the ugliest monsters cannot break.”

Daenerys did not break. Sansa  _was_  broken. The world broke her into so many pieces, every day she struggled to make herself whole again.

It was as if he read her thought. “Someone like you Sansa—someone strong like  _you_ …” Jon said softly.

A long moment passed between them. Sansa wanted to tell him his words were pointless. Jon knew Sansa better than anyone, but even he would never know the true darkness in her heart. If he knew, he wouldn’t love her, _couldn’t_  love her. Jon was good, truly good. Even death couldn’t take that away from him. She couldn’t let her darkness corrupt his light. He would eventually hate her darkness.

“I want someone who believes in songs.” Jon said in a low voice.

“You want someone naïve and foolish?”

“She is anything but foolish. She is the most intelligent woman I have ever known.” His voice was even and intense. “I want someone who believes in the heroic tales. I want someone who will sing sweet songs to our children and make them believe there is more to this world than terrible monsters.”

 _A stupid girl who believed in heroes and honorable men._   _Stupid girl who placed her faith in the wrong people because she believed the world was good_. His words made something snap inside of her. She turned her face away quickly, desperately trying to hold back the sad and angry tears in the corner of her eyes. “I have to tell you Jon…I don’t think a person with such description exists anymore.” Sansa heard her voice break. How she wishes she could be this person for him.

“She exists. I have seen her.” He said softly.

 

* * *

 

 

III

 

 

Her eyes shone with the tears she was fighting to keep off her beautiful face. Jon wanted to rush to her side and sink to his knees. He wanted to gather her in his arms and apologize for making her cry. The last thing he ever wanted to do was make her cry. 

“Lady Brienne, would you give us some time.”

“Yes your—“

“Brienne!” Sansa cut her off. “I told you are to not leave my side today.” Her voice shook.

“Lady Brienne, please.” Jon pleaded. He kept his eyes on Sansa. Her cheeks high with color, her face was somehow rendered even more beautiful by the force of her anger. Truly she was the most exquisite creature in the world.

He could see the look of panic in Sansa’s eyes as she watched Brienne turn the door knob. “You are here to protect me. You don’t listen to anyone but me!” Sansa almost yelled at her trusted knight.

Brienne stayed silent for a moment. Without a backward glance she spoke slowly, “I vowed to serve and protect you my lady. Right now I think I need to protect you from yourself.”

Sansa shot up from her seat as the door closed behind Brienne with a loud thud. “I can’t be here.” Her whisper sounded as if she was running out of breath. “I need to go.”

“Why?” he demanded. “What are you so afraid of?” He sounded wounded. “If you tell me I can fix it.”

Sansa fumed. “You think your—  _stupid_  list is going to change things?” Jon didn’t think he had ever seen her so angry, not even during their fights.

“Sansa..." Jon groaned. Her pain bothered him more than anything else. He wanted to take it all away, destroy it, and make sure it never finds its way to her again. He wanted to keep it away the way Sansa had kept his pain away all this time. He stepped towards her. “I would not ask you of anything if I did not think you feel the same way...”

Jon gently cupped her face as he thought of what to say. He had once tried to explain to Sam what being in love was like and failed miserably. He was no bloody poet. Now he realized he was somewhat right about love. Despite his family, Jon had felt alone all his life. With Ygritte, for a moment he felt he had someone. With Sansa, it was different. This connection to her was stronger than anything he had ever known. He knew he was a part of her just as she was a part of him. For as long as they lived, their souls would remain connected. Jon wanted to say even death couldn't severe this tie to her.

“Sansa, I love you so much.” he whispered, his lips lightly brushing the words against her mouth. “I am incomplete without you sweetling. You complete me! You keep me alive—without you I feel as if I have gone back to the day Melisandre resurrected me. I feel empty and cold. I swear by the gods it feels as if you have become the very air I breathe in. You are the only color I see in my dark world. Maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe Sam is wrong. Brienne is wrong. Maybe you don’t love me the way I love you, but I know you care for me. Do not ask me to give myself to another woman Sansa. I am begging you. I will not survive it! You do not have to love me back, we will go back to how it used to be but do not force me to leave you.” Jon’s voice cracked slightly.

It terrified him to bare his soul in such a way when she was ready to stomp all over his heart. He prayed his words would sneak beneath her skin and seep into her soul somehow. “I don’t think I have it in me to live without you Sansa. I have lost too much. I have died once; when they brought me back I wanted to die again. Then you came… Suddenly I had something to live for, _someone_ to live for.”

Sansa lips parted to protest. Before she could utter a word Jon continued. “Don’t you dare say pity. Not when you are the reason I wake up from bed every morning. Your touch, your smile, your warmth keeps me going. The seconds I spend with you are the best part of my day.” It was true. Sansa was the best part of his day—walks with Sansa, talks with Sansa, jokes with Sansa, meals with Sansa, meetings with Sansa. Sansa, Sansa, Sansa. Everything started with Sansa. A day without Sansa was a bad day—and lately he was having too many of those because he had tried to keep a distance from her. 

Sansa’s lips quivered as she looked down. She was doing her best to hold back the tears again, and failing again. Jon gently lifted her chin, urging her to look at him. She needed to look at him as he said these words. He wanted her to peer into his soul with those lovely eyes of hers. “I will never ask you for anything you cannot give me. You already give me the world. I don’t want the seven kingdoms, I want you. I don’t want a queen, I just want you. I don’t care about anything as long as I have you. I love—“

“I love you.” She whispered softly.

His breath caught at her words. He couldn’t speak, or breathe.  He wasn’t even sure if he heard it right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I am succeeding at writing angst. It is turning out to be a fluff thanks to Jon. I just couldn't stop myself.  
> Thank you so, so much for all your kind words!! Please overlook my typos and grammatical errors. This was meant to be an one-shot. I have dragged it to 4 chapters because I think I need to see Sansa understand and accept his love. I had no intentions of adding Daenerys parts in the story, but many of you suggested her. So I had to explore it, turns out I had a blast. So thanks guys!


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